His Heroine
by Orlando Hope
Summary: Updated: Shannon & Boone love each other to the point of hatred. But they are always there for each other...or are they?
1. Default Chapter

**Legal Note: I am not associated with ABC or "Lost." I do not own Shannon or Boone, and am receiving no financial gain for this odd view into Boone's subconscious. I just feel sorry for him, and thought he deserved the chance to speak his mind. **

At first, Boone thought there was nothing worse than for the others to think of him as a joke. Then, he had been beaten to a bloody pulp by Sawyer, and Boone decided

there was nothing worse than the others viewing him as a wimp. But now, listening to Scott and Steve whispering, he knew there was something much, much worse than being considered a joke or a wimp.

Being branded John Locke's "Boy Toy" was _much, much _worse.

For a moment, Boone toyed with the idea of running over to the two men, grabbing Scott in a passionate embrace, and laying a kiss worthy of Madonna on his worthless lips. All Boone would have to do was pretend Scott was Halle Berry or maybe

Ariel from _The Little Mermaid. _

Or Shannon.

Boone sighed and walked deeper into the jungle. Yes, he'd have to pretend Scott—or anyone he happened to kiss—was Shannon. His little sister. The wild angel he had been rescuing for over fifteen years. Anytime Boone had held another woman in his arms, felt feminine curves under his body, whispered sexy, naughty words in a girl's ear,

he had pretended she was Shannon. He had never been lacking in female attention. His

mother's empire—more specifically, Boone's inheritance—assured that. Women would always be throwing themselves at a trust fund baby, even a wimpy, clownish one.

With these women, Boone had felt in control. It was easy to walk around a pool with his arm around a girl's shoulders, to buy dinner and drinks, to take a lady on romantic holidays. He had loved the way women felt snuggled under his arm, enjoyed

sharing his bed with the pretty girls who threw themselves at Sabrina's son. Boone had never had a problem making a move, bedding a beautiful girl, or playing the modest hero.

He had never felt inadequate.

But Shannon changed everything.

Boone knew Shannon was in charge. There was no doubt Shannon ruled him, owned every beat of his heart. Shannon was inside him, knew his thoughts and actions long before Boone himself did. Shannon issued demands, Shannon stayed in control,

Shannon lived to dominate him.

Yet Boone did not kid himself. Shannon did not do these things out of love, romantic or brotherly. Shannon simply knew Boone would sacrifice his own life to

rescue her. Shannon knew she possessed him. And that made her dangerous.

Boone came to a stop, lost somewhere in the rainforest. He heard strange sounds,

sounds a city boy was not used to. God, he _was _a wimp. If only he could learn to take care of himself the way he cared for Shannon.

Suddenly, Boone gave up. He simply didn't care. Let the murderous island monster attack him. Bring on Ethan and his bungee cords. At this point, Boone simply didn't care. He stretched out on his tummy, deliberately keeping his back to the unknown, invisible enemies. Whatever was out there, he was ready for it. He just didn't want to see it coming.

Boone thought back to The Night back in his Sydney hotel room. Shannon had been drunk with despair, strawberry wine and **_knowledge. _**She knew a few well-planted

kisses would easily charm Boone, knew a night of lovemaking would replace him under her spell. It was an easy sacrifice for her to make. She had played the high-price prostitute, giving Boone her body in exchange for his sacrifices, his love of playing the hero, for the money he had given all those ex-boyfriends.

For what would someone like Shannon—beautiful and sexy, special and a real player—ever see in Boone, other than a big brother? She knew him better than anyone.

She knew he was the type of man who carried a worn copy of _Watership Down _with him

on every trip. She knew he had spent hours as a teen, pumping iron and running laps to

both impress the girls and be accepted by the guys. She knew, no matter how many girls

he bedded, that he was in love with her. She **_knew._**

There was a rustling in the trees behind him, but Boone didn't start. He might not be a survivalist like Locke, or a tracker like Kate, but Boone knew those footsteps. He would recognize the familiar angry stomp of those slingbacks anywhere.

"You shouldn't be out here, Shannon."

"So what, it's okay for you to wander away from camp, but I have to sit there like a good little girl? Keep my mouth shut and look pretty?"

"Pretty much, yes."

"God, sometimes I really hate you, Boone," Shannon snapped. "Do you know that?"

Boone didn't turn, hadn't moved a muscle since Shannon's arrival. He continued

to lie in the dirt, his eyes closed. "Whatever, Shannon. I don't even care anymore."

"As if. You can't stop caring, Boone. That's your problem."

Boone thought he might cry. "You're right; that is my problem. It's been my problem since I was ten."

"I'm not going to argue with you," Shannon said, disgusted. "Just stay there and get trampled by a polar bear or speared by a wild boar. See if I care."

"That's my other problem," Boone said softly. "You don't care."

Silence. "I cared in Sydney."

"Seduction comes naturally to you, Shannon. You use your curvy little body to get men to do whatever you want them to do. Even your brother."

"Is that what you think?" Shannon spat. "That I _seduced _you? I didn't have to _seduce you_, big brother. You've been begging for it for years. All I did was finally take pity on you."

Boone bit down hard on his bottom lip, instantly tasting his own blood. He laughed out loud. Shannon had once again drawn blood.

"I remember that night, you know," Shannon said, her voice sultry. She threw her shoes to the ground, and straddled Boone's back. She began running her fingertips lazily

down his arms. Boone didn't kid himself. This wasn't a sexual power play. She had straddled him to keep from sitting down on the damp earth. Nothing more.

"I remember how your eyes fluttered closed when I kissed you," Shannon said,

her talented hands beginning to knead the tense muscles in his shoulders. "I remember

the way your mouth tasted, how quickly and easily you fell into my arms. I remember

undressing you in the moonlight."

"Shannon, stop," Boone groaned, unwilling to relive all she remembered.

"I could undress you again," she purred, leaning close to brush her lips across

his ear. "Undress you in full daylight this time."

"Then leave me for the monster, right?" Boone snapped. He couldn't let her take control again. Lying on his tummy, he could pretend she was any ordinary girl. He thought back to Justine, the pretty girl who had been under his arm when Shannon's Sydney distress call had came. If he only pretended this was Justine astride him, Justine's

fingers exciting him, he could stay in control. He _had _to stay in control.

Shannon seemed to sense she was losing her control. "Look at me, Boone," she

demanded.

"No."

For such a small girl, Shannon was powerful. Twisting off him, she grabbed Boone's shoulders and heaved him over. Much to his disgust, he didn't protest. He let her manhandle him, let her have control of his body. He stared at the sky, barely visible through the thick canopy of trees. He couldn't look at her. If he dared look at Shannon now, he would be completely lost.

Shannon crawled atop him, placing one hand on either side of his head. "You know you want me," she whispered.

"I don't," Boone replied. Think of Justine, he commanded himself. Remember the string bikini, the poolside flirtation, the subtle allusions to his mother's company. Think of anyone except Shannon.

"Boone," Shannon whispered, nuzzling his neck, licking the little mole under his ear. It was amazing…back in Sydney, his neck had tasted of soap and Polo. Here, stuck on this deserted island, predictable, reliable Boone tasted wild and tempestuous. Forbidden. She claimed his mouth, her tiny teeth nibbling on the bloody bite on his bottom lip. Her fingers drew large, lazy figure eights on the nape of his neck. At the sound of his sexy, submissive groan, Shannon felt herself melting into him. His arms came around her again, soft and gentle, so different from any man she'd ever experienced. Every other man had been desperate to crush her, to prove his masculinity

and power. Boone was tender and placid, the kind of man who entertained himself with stories of bunnies and enchanted castles. She knew Boone, as much as he protested, loved the idea of being her hero.

"You taste like dirt," Shannon whispered. She pulled back, blinking. _Dirt?_

Boone's hands, which were tangled in her silky hair, stilled. "I'm sorry, dirt?" He repeated. The look on his beloved, familiar face was almost comical. "Did you just say I taste like dirt?"

"Well, you have been wallowing in the mud," Shannon said, trying to appear flippant. "When was the last time you took a bath?"

"Probably that last night in Sydney," he replied, propping up on his elbows.

The motion sent Shannon sliding back on his chest, coming to rest in his crotch. His eyes,

hooded and heavy, were thick with desire.

A footfall behind them caused Shannon and Boone to scramble to their feet. Boone wrapped his arms around Shannon, pulling her tightly against his chest. "Who's there?" he called.

Sayid's sober face came into view. Boone felt Shannon's shoulders tense, knew she wanted him to release her. He held her tighter, much to both Shannon's and Sayid's

annoyance. "What do you want?"

"Shannon has been gone from camp for a long time," Sayid said, his eyes beetle-black and glittering with anger. He was speaking solely to Boone, speaking over Shannon. "I wanted to check on her."

"So what, you're her babysitter now?" Boone snapped.

"Shut up!" Shannon yelled, struggling in Boone's embrace. "Let me go so we can get back to camp."

"You're not going anywhere," Boone replied, his voice steely.

"I believe the lady said she wants to go," Sayid said, deadly calm.

Shannon broke free. She spun in a tight circle, and slapped Boone hard across the face. His neck snapped back. His hand came up to cradle his cheek, stunned but not surprised by Shannon's violence. It was just like Shannon, flirty and seductive one second, cruel and calculating the next. Boone was frozen.

And in that moment, he gave up.

"Let's go," Sayid repeated, holding out his hand for Shannon. His gaze was focused on her now; Boone was of no importance.

"Give me just a minute," Shannon replied, dazzling Sayid with her girlish smile. "There's something I need to take care of."

Sayid's eyes flashed. "Ten minutes. If you are not back at camp in ten minutes, I will come back for you."

Shannon nodded. She knew Sayid didn't trust her alone with Boone.

When Sayid had disappeared into the jungle, Shannon turned back to Boone. Boone hadn't moved since she'd slapped him. His face was averted and already slightly swollen, his shoulders were hunched. "Don't look so pathetic," Shannon snapped.

Boone shrugged. He _was_ pathetic. His entire life, he had been dominated by two strong, powerful women. First his mother, then Shannon. They had spent a lifetime belittling Boone, making him feel silly and inadequate. For the first time in his life, he gave in to his feelings. Shannon and Sabrina were right. There was literally nothing to him.

"What is wrong with you?" Shannon asked. Boone kept his eyes averted, refusing to look at her. Shannon cupped his chin and forced his face to hers. Boone looked tired and old, nothing like the too-serious brother she relied on.

"It's over, Shannon," Boone said. "I'm through."

"What does that mean?" She demanded. "What's over? Us? Like it or not, I'm your sister. That will not, can not, change. No matter how much you'd like to get rid of me."

"You're right," he whispered. "As usual, you're right. Like it or not, I'm your slave. You've owned me since childhood. And that last night in Sydney, that night broke me completely."

"It was sex, Boone!" Shannon yelled, releasing him. "God, had I know how hard-up you were I would have pity-screwed you years ago."

"Pity…" Boone trailed. He smiled wryly. Pity. At least she felt some emotion for him. At least he was more to her than a checkbook.

Shannon was livid. This sad, quiet Boone was new to her, and she didn't like the change. She wanted Boone enraged and passionate, fighting and angry. She needed to see those blue eyes sparkle with annoyance and determination. She wanted to find the Boone he kept buried deep inside, the man who was revealed only to her. She knew she was the only person alive capable of bringing out the best—and the very worst—in her brother.

More than anything, Shannon wanted Boone flat on his back, naked in the dirt. She wanted to listen to the little gurgling sounds he made when she kissed his earlobe,

taste the muddy earth on his corded neck.

She wanted Boone.

Impatient, Shannon pressed her lips to Boone's. At first, just like the night in Sydney, he didn't react. His arms hung limply by his side; he didn't kiss her back. Shannon refused to give up. She suckled his lips, claiming his mouth as if she were

biting into a ripe, juicy peach. One hand firmly held his head in place, while the other,

softer, hand tap danced down his spine.

_Live, damn you! _Shannon thought frantically, using all the feminine power she possessed to draw Boone back to her. After all these years, she wanted Boone to break free—no to _explode_—from the cave he had built around himself. She had thought her reference to the "pity screw" would have ignited his passion and fury. Instead, he simply seemed sad. Broken.

Boone remained impassive, letting Shannon manipulate his body. He didn't seem to care what she did. Breaking the kiss, Shannon lowered herself down to the earth, pulling Boone along with her. He came willingly, like a puppy she was leading by a leash. She had to make him a partner in this. An equal partner in their relationship; not the hero or the moldable brother, but an equal.

"Kiss me, Boone," she demanded, her voice soft.

Boone smiled sadly. "What do you think that just was?"

"That was _me_ kissing _you._ Just like in Sydney. I want _you _to kiss _me._ I want to taste your tongue in my mouth, to swallow your moans and sighs. I want your arms around me."

"You were in my arms a minute ago, remember? Then Sayid appeared, and you slapped me."

"I could make you forget," she whispered, palming his stinging cheek. "Let's switch roles. I'll be the savior; you be the seducer. No one will ever know."

"Like it's up to you," Boone said, echoing his words in Sydney. She stepped closer. "Shannon, please---"

"Please what, Boone? Please nuzzle my neck? I can do that," she dropped her head and planted hot, searing kisses on his sweaty neck. She felt a thrill of adrenaline

at his soft groan. "Please hold me? I can do that, too." She slid her arms around his neck, drawing his downy head onto her shoulder. "Please make love to me? Ah, sweet Boone, I can do that, too."

"We did that in Sydney," he said, his voice muffled by her shoulder.

"No. Love was barely involved then. I took possession of you; I dominated you."

"Thanks for putting it so delicately," he said sarcastically.

She smiled, thumping him on the back of the head. She loved arguing with him, loved his fighting spirit.

"Ouch," Boone complained, reaching back to rub his head. "I'm still sore where Locke conked me the other day."

"That guy is a total freak," Shannon said passionately.

Boone sighed. "Can't say I disagree with you on that one." Locke. Thinking of Locke made Boone remember why he had trekked, all alone, into the jungle in the first place. The other survivors thought Boone was Locke's new boyfriend. Life didn't get much more pathetic than that.

Pulling away from Shannon, Boone attempted to stand. Shannon grabbed him around the waist, forcing him to stay seated beside her. "Don't go," she pleaded.

"You were supposed to meet Sayid back at camp fifteen minutes ago," Boone reminded her. "The last thing I want is an angry Iraqi slapping my other cheek."

"I want you to kiss me," Shannon said again.

"Shannon," Boone drawled, turning his head away. "Let this go."

"Afraid of me, Boone?" Shannon asked, deadly serious. "In Sydney, we were protected. I could claim I came to your hotel room because I was upset about Brian. I could claim I kissed you because I was drunk. We could pretend you felt sorry for me, or that we were both lonely. Here…"

"Here?" Boone interrupted.

"Here, on this island, there can be no excuses. You are no longer Sabrina's little business manager. I don't need rescuing from big, bad lovers. Right now, I simply need you."

"Ah, you just hit on the key words—right now. Right now you need me. Tomorrow, hell, this _afternoon_ you may be begging for Sayid's kisses. You may need poor Charlie to catch you another fish. You may need Michael to spread eucalyptus on your chest, or Jack to coach you through another anxiety attack. If we're here long enough, you'll need Walt for something."

Shannon drew back from him, disgusted. "Is that what you really think of me?"

"It's how you've behaved your entire life, Shannon!" He yelled. "There's always been a stream of men lined up, ready to sacrifice anything for you."

"And that just killed you, didn't it?" She spat, staggering to her feet. Instinctively,

Boone reached out to steady her, but she brushed his hands away. "You were always jealous of any guy around me. It was pathetic, really, watching you drool over me."

There was that word again; pathetic. Pathetic Boone, always watching over Shannon. From boyhood to manhood, he had been her whipping boy. He had always done exactly what she wanted and needed.

And there was no need to stop now.

Grabbing Shannon's hand, he yanked her back to the ground. He briefly had a glimpse of her wide, surprised eyes before he ground his mouth against hers. He pushed his tongue past her lips, and began making love to her mouth. His touch was nothing like it had been in Sydney; there he had been gentle and considerate. Now, he was demanding

and forceful, channeling a lifetime of pent-up anger, passion and love into his kiss.

He pushed his arms between them, making quick work of the buttons on her blouse. Pushing the shirt off her shoulders, he tore his mouth away from hers and planted hot, branding kisses along her tanned throat and shoulders. She groaned and tipped her head back, allowing him greater access. When his mouth found the slope of her bare breast, he felt Shannon shiver.

Boone drew back, his chest heaving. He raised a trembling hand to her cheek. "Shannon, do you want me to stop."

"Are you insane? Have you not been listening to me the past thirty minutes? _I want this!_" She smiled teasingly, almost, Boone swore, **_shyly. _**"A girl is allowed to get excited, isn't she?"

"Oh, God yes," Boone breathed, grabbing for her again.

Hours later, Boone and Shannon lay curled in each others' arms, limp and sated with sex. Shannon, so determined to care for Boone the way he had protected her for years, had her arms and legs wrapped around him. He was literally wrapped in a cocoon

fashioned from her own body. For his part, Boone had one hand twisted in her hair and the other lying casually across her backside.

Sayid watched them, his eyes hard and unyielding. He had hidden in the undergrowth for hours, listening to Shannon and Boone moan and sigh, laugh and scream. Every time had had heard Shannon scream Boone's name, her voice raised in passion and excitement, Sayid had bit down on himself to keep from charging them.

Sayid was not a man to give up easily. He would win this battle. He would have Shannon in his embrace, his name on her lips. As for Boone…the island monster would welcome another victim.


	2. Boone's Confession

Shannon remembered living with Brian back in Sydney. They had been a perfect match. Both remarkably self-centered, each wrapped up in scans and cons of their own, and each knowing, without a doubt, why Shannon closed her eyes when they made love.

To his credit, it hadn't taken Brian long to figure everything out. He knew there was another guy, sure, but it had taken a few weeks to figure out his pretty new girlfriend was in love with her brother. To be honest, it really amused Brian. Hell, it turned him on. When Shannon first talked about luring Boone to Sydney, Brian toyed with the idea of asking if he could watch. A brother and sister going at it was a new one, even for a seasoned sexual pro like Brian.

Now, lying in the mud—_the mud!!_—in the middle of the jungle on some godforsaken island, Shannon flirted with the idea of pretending the sleeping man in her arms was someone other than Boone. Someone other than the beloved big brother she had tried to protect these past fifteen years. If only she were stranded with Brian or Paolo or any of the other losers she had hooked up with over the years, everything would be okay. Instead, she was trapped in an isolated hell with the person she loved, feared and hated more than anyone on Earth.

Boone also had the unseemly habit of drooling in his sleep. Disgusted, she used his shirt to wipe the spittle off his cheek. Boone moaned at the touch. "Shannon," he mumbled.

"I'm here, Boone," she whispered. "Go back to sleep."

He snuggled in closer to her, his larger body somehow managing to curl into hers.

She wrapped her arms tighter around him, holding him closer. If she could somehow manage to roll Boone up, roly-poly like, she would keep him inside her body forever. She'd protect him, nourish him, keep him safe, much like expectant mothers shield their unborn children. Boone needed protection. He was able to take care of Shannon, sure, but no one had ever taught him how to protect his own interests, his own emotions, his own heart. For that very reason, he had fallen in love with his baby sister, the one woman who was capable of slaying him with a glare or an unkind word.

Shannon glanced down into Boone's sleeping face. Despite his red cheek and kiss-swollen lips, he still looked like the big brother she had climbed into bed with as a child. Every asthma attack had sent her scampering to Boone's side. He always had her medicine, always knew how to tease her out of her fright. Thunderstorms, on the other hand, were Boone's phobia. But instead of holding his hand or playing Monopoly by candlelight, Shannon had ridiculed his fear. She and Sabrina had turned Boone into the frightened, insecure rabbit he was now.

He wore his insecurity like a bright red scarf. Everyone saw it. The hangdog, woebegone expression in Boone's eyes all but begged people to take advantage of him, to scorn him, to beat him emotionally and physically. Thinking back, Shannon realized almost every man on the island had already taken a swing at Boone. So, Shannon thought, wincing, had she. She had slapped him hours earlier, slapped him for merely protecting her.

But then, looking back, she had been mentally slapping him for years.

That night in Sydney—the night they had made love—that had been Shannon's hardest slap of all. She wanted Boone's very spirit to bleed. Somehow, seeing disappointment in his eyes always made her feel powerful. His sorrows were her joys. Yet he always rode to her rescue. He always played the hero.

Easing away from Boone, Shannon began slipping into her clothes. Just like the night in Sydney, she left him nude while she remained fully clothed. Back then, his nakedness had increased her sense of power and conquest. Now, she didn't feel worthy enough to be in such close contact with someone so beautiful, so perfect. Her clothes covered her own unworthiness. Boone, ah Boone had nothing to hide. The stark nakedness in his eyes always revealed his heart.

Once she was dressed, Shannon propped her back against the tree and slid Boone's head into her lap. Her fingers traced the bite on his lip, caressed the bruised cheek, and gingerly explored the knot on his head. So many injuries…yet Boone had been injured for years. The difference here was that his injuries showed. The world was unable to look away.

"Shannon?" Boone said sleepily, reaching up to still her fingers. "That's still sore, you know."

"You shouldn't be hanging out with Locke so much," she said, absent-mindedly. She wondered why Boone instead on spending so much time with Locke.

She wondered what Locke had in mind for Boone.

One thing was certain: Shannon did not trust John Locke. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened, why he hit you?"

Boone was silent for a long time. Shannon ran her fingers through his hair, brushed grass and leaves off his forehead, massaged his temples. For the first time in her life, she was going to be patient with Boone. She was going to let him bloom in his own sweet time.

"He made me think you were dead."

Well, that was the last thing Shannon expected. She jerked in surprise, jolting Boone's head from her lap. His head cracked on the jungle floor. Instead of crying out or snapping at Shannon's carelessness, Boone lay still, his eyes squeezed shut. To Shannon's absolute horror, two fat tears fell from beneath his closed eyelids.

"Boone?" She asked, frightened.

He drew a great, sobbing breath. "I should have died in the crash," he choked, more tears streaking down his face. "It would have been better for everyone."

"I can't believe you just said that!" Shannon screamed. She reached down and grabbed his naked shoulders, forcing him to sit up and face her. He stared at the ground, his chest heaving, unable to ebb the flow of tears. She shook his shoulders. "Look at me, damn you!"

Reluctantly, Boone met her hard, unforgiving glare. "I am nothing, and no one, without you. You are everything that is good about me. Any innocence, any human kindness inside me, is all because of you. Without you, I wouldn't survive." She stopped, drawing in a sharp breath. "I love you, Boone."

Boone's eyes widened. "You've never told me---"

Shannon shrugged one arm. "But you've always known it, right?"

Boone looked adorably skeptical. "I'm not sure what you're saying, Shannon."

"If it makes you feel any better, _I'm _not sure what I'm saying," Shannon admitted. "I just know…I just know Sydney changed things."

"You were drunk in Sydney," Boone said. He absently began playing with two stray rocks. "It didn't mean anything."

"I don't mean the sex, you idiot," Shannon snapped. "Things changed long before the sex. I remember watching Brian hit you, remember you taking all those blows…" she shuddered. "But then, you've always been taking blows for me, haven't you, Boone?"

Boone shrugged. He was looking at the ground again. Shannon sighed. If Boone couldn't look his baby sister in the eye, how was he ever going to survive? How could she toughen him up, yet allow him to remain sweet and kind?

Boone suddenly seemed to notice his nudity. "I'd better get dressed before your boyfriend comes looking for us," he said, reaching for his shirt.

"Or yours?" She shot back.

Boone didn't even flinch. "Locke and I are going back to the hatch. He's certain it is important."

"What do you think?" Shannon asked.

Boone slipped back into his pants. "I think Locke has a nice butt."

"Okay, that's disgusting, Boone, even for you," Shannon snapped, crossing her arms over

her chest. They were back in annoying big-brother, naughty little-sister mode. Fine. If that's the way he wanted things, she could play along. If he was so determined to forget they had spent the last two hours in the most delightful mixture of pleasure-pain imaginable, then so would she.

After all, she could do those same things with Sayid.

But she wanted Boone.

Boone started walking away from the clearing. Then, almost as an afterthought, he glanced back at her. "Are you ready to go back to camp?"

So this is what it had been like for him in Sydney. Then, she had been the one cold and callous, the one ready to forget everything. They had spent hours making love in his hotel room, and she told him she wanted to forget everything. She had told him that, when they got back to LA, they would once again play the bickering brother and sister game. She had made him feel cold and used.

Much like she felt now.

God, she had to keep him here. She didn't want Boone leaving her, didn't want to be without him. Most of all, she didn't want her brother alone with John Locke. Locke. Shannon sat up straighter. "How did Locke make you believe I was dead?"

"Can we talk about this later? We really should be getting back."

Shannon shook her head. "Nope, I want to know now."

"You are such a brat, Shannon," Boone said, scowling. All the same, walked back toward her. "Okay, you know Locke and I found the hatch."

"Right. But what does this have to do with me being dead?"

"Would you shut up and listen? I'm getting there," Boone sat down beside her. Their shoulders brushed, but otherwise, they did not touch. "I wanted to tell you about the hatch, about what we were doing in the jungle. You had figured out we weren't hunting."

Shannon tossed her hair. "You never came back with any food. Even you'd have to get lucky once and accidentally catch something."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence, Shannon," Boone said dryly. "Anyway, Locke didn't want me to tell you. He wanted to keep the hatch a secret between the two of us."

"Why" Shannon demanded.

Boone shrugged. "Beats me. Who knows what goes on inside Locke's mind. When I turned my back, he hit me on the head. When I woke up, Locke was spreading some sort of drugged goo on my head."

Shannon wrinkled her nose. "Drugged goo?"

"Whatever it was he put on my head made me have some far out hallucinations. I literally found you stretched out on some rocks, torn to shreds by the monster. You died in my arms."

Shannon thought for a moment. There was one question she was desperate to ask, yet she was almost certain she didn't want to hear Boone's answer. Yes, she was interested in why Locke had taken such an interest in her brother. She wondered why Locke had drugged him. Dozens of questions tumbled over each other like a waterfall in her mind, but one in particular stood out: How did Boone feel when he thought she was dead?

She took a deep breath. Shannon had never been afraid of questions, never shied away from confrontation, and she wasn't about to start now. "How did you feel when you thought I was dead?"

He took a moment in answering. She saw anguish, embarrassment and shame play across his face. There was something he didn't want her to know, something he was ashamed to admit. She grabbed his shoulders and forced him to meet her gaze. "How did you feel, Boone?"

Boone stared straight into her eyes. "I felt relieved."

Shannon dropped her hands from his shoulders. "You felt relieved?" She repeated faintly. "What do you mean, relieved?"

"I mean, I felt free of you. I didn't have to play the hero anymore. No more riding to Shannon's rescue, no more putting my life on hold to keep you from falling apart. I was free from whatever spell you had over me."

"Spell? You think I put a _spell _on you?" Shannon spat angrily.

Boone ran a hand through his hair, already tangled and messy from their lovemaking. "You know what I mean, Shannon!"

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean," she retorted, scrambling to her feet. "You mean you no longer had to feel guilty about being in love with your little sister."

Boone didn't deny this. He remained on the ground, staring up at her. "I'm glad my death eased your conscious," she snapped.

"Shannon…" Boone reached for her hand, but Shannon snatched it away. If Boone wanted her gone that badly, she would be more than happy to comply.

"Tell you what, Boone," she said. Her voice was eerily calm. "From this moment on, I am dead to you. You longer have to worry about me. Maybe you'll luck out and the island monster really will kill me."

"Shannon, listen to me!" Boone cried, also getting to his feet. "I don't want you to be dead. You are not dead to me, do you understand? I love you, Shannon!"

"Okay, let me rephrase that," Shannon said coolly. "You, big brother, are dead to me. Now if you'll excuse me, Sayid is waiting for me."

She stomped off into the jungle, leaving Boone staring after her, his chest heavy with sobs and regret.


	3. Fever

It was late the next day before Boone made it back to camp. He had spent almost twenty-four hours stretched out under the tree, thinking. He felt sorry for himself; that was undeniable. Admit it; it was impossible not to feel sorry for a guy who kept getting beat up and was in love with his baby sister. Boone wondered what Dr. Phil would do in this situation.

The really sad thing was, no one seemed to miss Boone. He could have stayed away a lot longer than a day, and no one would come looking for him. Kate and Jack were too wrapped up in each other; Claire and Charlie were still reeling from the loss of the baby; Locke…Boone honestly believed Locke could care less if Boone lived or died. Life was just a great experiment to Locke, and whatever was meant to happen would happen. It wasn't that Locke was unkind or harbored ill will, he simply put trust in fate. And Sayid, well, there was no love lost between Sayid and Boone. Sayid could take a swan dive off the highest cliff, and Boone would be eager to give him a helping hand.

That left Shannon. Shannon, the sister he had sacrificed so much for. The woman he should have lied to yesterday. God, he was such a loser! Why did he tell Shannon he felt _relieved _when he believed her to be dead? It was time to stop seeing Shannon as a pesky little sister, and treat her like a woman to be loved and desired. That meant, Boone knew,

keeping the truth from her at all costs.

"Hello there, Boone," Charlie said, sneaking up behind him. "You don't look so good, if you don't mind me saying."

Boone gave a dry laugh. "What doesn't look so good, Charlie? My face? Well, Shannon slapped me yesterday. My lip? I bit down on myself to keep from telling Shannon exactly what I think of her. Oh, and there's my head…my head which Locke whacked the other day."

Charlie backed up a few paces, his eyes wide. "Well, mate, I need to get back to Claire…"

"No, stay!" Boone yelled, grabbing Charlie's arm. "You think I look stressed out right? You should have seen me this time yesterday! I was limp and sated with sex. God, I was happy."

"You know, I wouldn't use the words _limp _and _sex_ in the same sentence," Charlie advised. "It doesn't send the right message."

"And you know who I was having sex with, Charlie?" Boone said, laughing hysterically. "Take a wild guess. The last person you could possibly think of."

"Um, if you say you were with Vincent, I'd really rather not hear about it…"

"I HAD SEX WITH SHANNON!" Boone bellowed. "I slept with my baby sister! Again! We did it in Sydney! We did it yesterday under a…well, I don't know what kind of tree it was. It had leaves on it."

Charlie searched Boone's face. For the first time, Charlie realized how flushed and sweaty Boone's face was. Looking closer, Charlie noticed a strange, feverish light in Boone's blue eyes. "Are you on drugs, mate? I ask because, well, you might not know, but…"

"I'm not on drugs!" Boone yelled. "I am perfectly sane. Sober! Sane and sober! I could be the star of the island's first reality TV show!"

"Right," Charlie drawled. He sent a frightened look at Boone, then roared, "JACK!"

It only took Super Jack a second to materialize beside them. "What's the problem?" Jack asked, looking from Charlie to Boone. Jack, being a little quicker on the uptake than Charlie, noticed Boone's flushed appearance at once. Jack raised a hand to Boone's forehead. "You feeling okay?"

Boone swatted Jack's hand away. "Don't treat me like some sort of little kid, okay? I can take care of myself, despite what you all think."

Charlie started humming. "You all everybody," he softy sang.

"Charlie," Jack said sharply.

"Right," Charlie nodded. "Need to be getting back to Claire. Feel better, mate."

Boone watched Charlie bounce off into the wilderness. Charlie, even when hanging from a tree or taking care of a despondent girlfriend, always seemed to come out on top. Charlie was a funny little guy; a one-hit wonder, couldn't swim, almost hobbit-like in appearance. Yet, everyone seemed to adore him. What made Charlie so loveable, and Boone so…_Boone? _Perhaps if it weren't for Shannon…

"Boone, you're burning up," Jack said, shaking Boone from his revive. Jack had finally felt Boone's forehead, and it was flaming. Jack remained calm, not wanting to upset Boone. Mentally, Jack ran through the antibiotics back at camp. He took Boone by the elbow. "Listen, we really need to get you back to camp. I can take care of you there."

Boone gave a dry laugh. "Wouldn't it be better on everyone if I just died?"

Jack stared at him. "Where did that come from? You're needed around here, Boone; you know that. If it weren't for you, Shannon would-"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT SHANNON!" Boone roared. Blindly, not fully realizing what he was doing, Boone swung his fists at Jack. One fist made contact with Jack's stomach, while the other caught him in the windpipe. Jack doubled over, winded.

Boone kicked Jack in the side, sending him sprawling in the dirt. Suddenly, Jack was gone, and in his place was Brian, punching Boone over and over. Michael, taking a swing at Boone. Charlie, yelling after he'd discovered Boone had stolen the water. Sawyer, beating Boone to a pulp when he discovered him rooting through his things. Locke, knocking him unconscious with a blow to the head. Sayid, who Boone knew wished him dead.

And Shannon. Boone punched and kicked Jack for every blow Shannon had dealt him. It was Shannon's blood, not Jack's, spilling on the jungle floor. Shannon, who Boone wished, more than anything, had truly been murdered by the island monster.

"Boone…" Jack whispered. "You don't know what you're doing…"

Boone laughed; it was a mirthless, cold laugh, an unfamiliar laugh on Sabrina's perfect son. "I know exactly what I'm doing, Shannon," he said, bending over Jack. "I'm leaving you here to die, like I should have done before."

Stripping off his shirt and jeans—when had it gotten so hot?—Boone rambled off into the jungle. Jack, bleeding and broken, faded into blessed unconsciousness.

It was hours later when Jack, still woozy from Boone's beating, made it back to camp. Jack was sure nothing was broken, but he had a hell of a headache. He hoped there was some of that aspirin left. If he'd given it all to Charlie, Jack had half a mind to attack the little guy and force him to cough an aspirin up.

"Dude!" Hurley materialized beside him. "Oh man, were you attacked by the monster? It must have been the monster, right? Kate has had a leash on Sawyer all day."

"Bite me, fat boy," Saywer called.

"Jack?" It was Kate. There was fear in her voice. Jack tried to smile, tried to reassure everyone he was okay. He especially didn't want Kate fawning over him. "Jack, what happened?" She took one of Jack's elbows, and she and Hurley helped him sit down.

Michael shoved a bottle of water in Jack's hands.

"Thanks," Jack said, gratefully chugging the cool water. He wasn't in a hurry to tell the others what had happened. Boone was far from the most popular guy on the island. Boone was sick, however, and everyone needed to band together to find him. Locke and Shannon might have an idea where to look.

"Boone took a few swings at me," Jack said, trying to sound flippant.

"Boone would never do that," Shannon called. She stepped out of the darkness, Sayid close behind her.

"Listen, Shannon," Jack said, cutting her off. "Boone's sick. He has a really high fever. It's probably making him have visions, hear things that aren't there…"

"No!" Shannon yelled. "Boone would not just suddenly attack you."

"He doesn't know what he's doing, Shannon. Charlie saw him earlier. He can tell you Boone was flushed and nervous."

"He's right," Charlie said, stepping into the light. "He was acting really strangely. Even for him."

Shannon stared hard at both Jack and Charlie. She flipped her hair. "Okay, so Boone's sick. Just give him a couple of your little pills and he'll be fine."

"Listen, I don't do that kind of stuff any-" Charlie began.

"I think she meant aspirin, Charlie," Rose said gently.

"Ah," Charlie flushed. "Sorry."

"The thing is, Boone ran off into the jungle. I don't know where he is," Jack said. "He could be anywhere on the island, running around with a very high temperature."

"So what do we do?" Kate asked, all seriousness.

"We find him," Jack said simply. "If we don't find him, and bring that fever down…"

Everyone was quiet for a moment. Then Shannon laughed. "Boone can take care of himself just fine. I was about to go to bed. Maybe I'll look for him in the morning."

Kate turned to stare at her. "This is your brother we're talking about. Sick and alone.

Don't you care what happens to him?"

"Like I said, Boone can take care of himself," Shannon shot back. "He doesn't need me playing nursemaid."

"What, like he played nursemaid to you during your asthma attack?" Kate snapped. "Boone did everything he could to take care of you. Now you're going to turn your back on him?"

"You two can argue all you want," Jack interrupted. "But we have to start looking for him. We need to form at least two search parties. Another group can stay here at camp."

"I'll head one group," Locke volunteered. He looked across at Shannon and Sayid. "You two want to join me?"

"They'll go," Kate answered, glaring at Shannon. "I'll head the other team."

"Great. Listen, Kate and Locke, take four aspirin tablets and two bottles of water. Here, take my blanket as well. There's no telling what condition he'll be in when you find him."

_If we find him, _Sayid thought, trailing along behind Locke and Shannon. _If…_


	4. Shannon's search

Chapter Four

**Legal Note: As usual, I am not associated with Disney, ABC, "Lost," or anything remotely resembling these companies / organizations. Once again, I simply feel sorry for Boone, and want to give him the opportunity to speak his mind. **

Much to her disgust, Shannon had been paired off with Locke. She had really been looking forward to a little jungle-time with Sayid, but Locke had ordered him to search with Hurley. Shannon was sure John Locke was the only person alive capable of ordering Sayid to do anything.

In the meantime, Shannon had spent over two hours trampling through underbrush, swallowing bugs and trailing along behind Locke. Shannon hated to admit it, but Boone was right: Locke really _did _have a great butt.

What a way to spend the afternoon. Nothing like wandering through the wilderness, looking for a wayward brother to get a girl excited. Shannon could be stretched out on the beach, soaking up some rays, rereading the same dog-eared copy of _Cosmo _she'd read eight times already, having sex with Sayid somewhere in the jungle, giving herself a pedi….wait. Back up. Having sex with Sayid somewhere in the jungle. Having sex with Sayid. Sex. With Sayid.

Sex with Boone.

Shannon stopped. No! She wasn't going to think about Boone. He was no longer a part of her life. Why would she want to have anything to do with someone who felt _relieved _when he thought her dead? Augh! He was lost somewhere on this godforsaken island, hopefully miles away from where Shannon stood, and Boone was still ruining her good time. Shannon stopped walking and stomped her little foot. She wanted to be rid of this noxious connection between them for good.

"I can't guarantee your safety if you don't keep up," Locke warned, looking over his shoulder at her. He didn't break his stride.

"I don't need you to _guarantee my safety," _Shannon snapped. "You were on the plane, you know. You, the mighty John Locke, were on the plane, yet it still crashed. Amazing how that happened, isn't it? Looks like you could have _guaranteed _everyone's safety when we were boarding in Sydney."

Locke stopped walking. He didn't look back at Shannon, nor glanced to the right or left. He merely stared straight ahead, thinking. Finally, he said, "You and your brother are quite different."

"I don't have a brother," Shannon spat at him.

"Well, step-brother," Locke amended.

Shannon started. She and Boone never called themselves _step-siblings. _That was just wrong. She and Boone were much closer than that. Shannon couldn't believe Boone had told Locke they weren't blood related. Shannon almost felt betrayed by Boone. He'd called her his **_step_**-sister? That sounded cold, like someone you'd accidentally run into at a wedding or shower. And step-brother didn't even _begin _to cover all the roles Boone played in her life. For years, he had been her friend, he protector, her worst enemy, her lover.

Her brother.

Locke stared straight ahead, seemingly focused on their search. Instinctively, however, Shannon knew differently. She knew Locke was waiting for her response, every sense turned to the slightest variation in her voice inflection, her step, her body language. She knew Locke was playing her.

He should have known better.

Squaring her shoulders, determined to play her part well, Shannon flounced past Locke. "Do whatever you want, old man," she sneered. "I really don't have time to help you find your boyfriend." She stomped off into the jungle, into the dangerous unknown, without a backward glance.

Locke stared after her, his emotions spiraling. Shannon loved that boy, loved him with every beat of her selfish heart. Locke wondered what it was like to be loved that completely, that passionately. He wondered why Shannon fought against her fate.

Locke had been bursting with love for Helen, though she had only been a voice on the other end of a phone line. If Helen had given him the opportunity to actually love her, to show her how much he wanted and needed her, Locke's life would have been complete.

No wheelchair could have stopped him.

But Shannon…Shannon also possessed all that desire and adoration. She loved Boone; Locke could see that.

And so could Shannon.

Locke liked Boone; he wouldn't deny it. He liked the boy's innocent charm, his child-like

loyalty and compassion. After all these years of being pitied, Locke also enjoyed having someone look up to him, respect him, like Boone did. Locke liked Boone's spirit, his willingness to learn, yet he also pitied him. The boy wore his heart on his ripped, bloody sleeve. He opened too quickly, took on others' battles. It was the reason he kept getting knocked down. Locke wanted to teach Boone how to take up for himself, to remain standing. Somewhere, perhaps buried so deep it was bruised and torn, Boone had confidence. Locke wanted to rescue to help the boy find himself.

As noble as these wishes were, however, there was one final reason John Locke had taken Boone under his wing. Though she tried, usually very successfully, to keep it hidden, Locke knew Shannon adored Boone. Truth be known, she worshipped the boy.

Locke prayed that some of Boone's sweetness, his ability to unknowingly win the undying devotion of this reckless girl, would rub off on him. Locke wanted to be loved with a passion on the brink of hatred, the same type of love Shannon felt for Boone.

And though she had put on quite an act, Locke knew. He knew Shannon had set out to search for Boone—on her own terms, of course.

Locke stared into the darkening jungle. Shannon was out there all alone. Alone, with the polar bears and the boars and the island monster. God help them.

With a decisive nod, Locke started back to camp.

While everyone was busy forming search parties, Shannon had quickly rambled through Jack's bag and located four aspirin. Silently slipping the medicine into her pocket, she slipped back into place beside Sayid and began complaining loudly about having to search for Boone. She ignored the angry glances the others sent her. Shannon had always played life by her own rules; she wasn't about to change now.

Now, crashing loudly through the jungle, Shannon's anxiety grew. What if she didn't find Boone before it grew completely dark? What if something had already happened to him?

Horrific scenarios, each one more graphic than the last, flashed through her mind: Boone, being captured by one of Ethan's murderous friends; Boone, loosing his footing and tumbling head first off a cliff; Boone, lying alone in the mud, feverous and alone. Boone,

without her.

"Boone!" She yelled. She glanced up at the darkening sky. "Hey, Boone! It looks like it's going to rain! You don't want to be all alone during a thunderstorm, do you? Wouldn't you rather have me with you?"

No reply. "Boone! I can sing for you, how about that?" Throwing back her head, Shannon began singing Happy Birthday. After about fifteen minutes of nonstop singing, Shannon's throat was sore and her head ached. "Okay, so Happy Birthday is the only song I know completely," she called out. "It's an important one, right? Right, sweet Boone?"

Still nothing. She had been on her own for hours now, and she feared she was walking in a huge circle. While she was singing, darkness had settled over the jungle. She was alone,

lost in a dark jungle, and she had broken at least two nails thrashing through the wilderness. By God, Boone was going to pay for making her break those nails. It wasn't like she could run over to the Golden Screen Salon and Day Spa for a quick manicure.

As she thought about this, however, Shannon realized Charlie might be able to fix her nails. His weren't that bad.

Lost in thought, Shannon tripped headfirst over a fallen tree. Instinctively, she threw her hands out in front of her to break her fall. When she hit the ground, her wrist gave a loud crack and pain shot through her hand. A wave of dizziness suddenly overwhelmed her.

Shannon lay still for a moment, struggling to remain conscious. Her stomach churned, and she tasted bile in her throat. She thought back to the old Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck cartoons, where the injured animals always saw little birdies or stars whirling about their heads. Shannon felt that way now, dazed and unaware of her surroundings. Unable to keep the bile down any longer, Shannon turned her head and wretched.

Funnily, boar tasted just as bad coming back up as it had going down.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her good hand, Shannon struggled to sit upright. She had to stop twice and force the bile back down her throat, and once to close her eyes against those dancing cartoon stars. Finally, she backed herself against a tree, using the trunk for support. She finally glanced down at her broken wrist, and almost threw up again. Her wrist hung limply at the end of her arm, flopping around like a flesh-colored rubber glove. And, the best she could tell, all five nails were broken.

It was absolutely hysterical, thinking about it. She, Shannon Rutherford, prom queen and player, pampered daddy's girl and high school princess, was propped up against a tree, lost in a dark jungle, surrounded by the stench of sick, nursing a broken wrist, and there wasn't a salon in sight. This was it, there was no doubt. She was in Hell.

Even more unbelievable, there was no Boone to rescue her. No, **_she _**was the one trying to play the heroine. Ha! But then, isn't that what she had promised him days earlier? They could switch roles, she'd said. He could be the sexual predator, she would be the rescuer.

Yep, she'd ridden to his rescue, all right. In ditching Locke, the ultimate attempt at saving her dignity, she'd ended up loosing everything. She was lost, and Boone was somewhere, delirious and alone. Great job, Shannon.

Okay, Shannon Rutherford did not cry. She sniffled a bit, sure, but no crying. Time to suck it up and look on the bright side. Okay, positives…look for the positives in the situation. Hum…well, she was positive her wrist was broken. She was positive Renee Zellweger had deserved the Oscar for _Chicago. _And she was positive she had failed Boone.

"Boone," Shannon whispered into the darkness. She wished he would come running out of the jungle, riding to her rescue. Boone, so timid and shy around other men, would risk his life to save a damsel in distress. He had almost killed himself in an attempt to save that swimmer—Joanna, maybe?—from drowning. Later that day, Shannon remembered ridiculing him for once again playing the hero. She laughed at him for simply being himself. He should have been a medieval knight, an English peer who risked life and limb for God and country. The thought of Boone in Queen Elizabeth's court amused her.

The pretty, flirtatious queen would have fallen in love with her brother. And Shannon probably would have been beheaded for decking the queen.

Sighing, Shannon decided there was no point going any further tonight. It was too dark to see, and she still felt woozy. Briefly, she considered swallowing one of the four aspirin hidden in her pocket. Anything to stop the throbbing pain…No! The medicine was for Boone. She would find him. She would start searching at daybreak. She knew she'd be awake; there was no way she'd ever be able to sleep. Not with Boone, sick and alone, lost in the jungle. Well, that, and the pain in her wrist. There was no need in pretending to be totally selfless.

Before she left in the morning, however, Shannon planned on totally destroying that freakin' tree she had tripped over. She didn't know how she'd do it, but she'd be damned if she'd let a moldy old log get the best of her. She reached out her good hand, feeling for the log. Instead of feeling something hard and mossy under her fingertips, however, Shannon made contact with something hot and…**_hairy? _**No…it couldn't be…Using her good hand, she slapped the sweaty surface.

And heard a groan.

"**_Boone?" _**


	5. History

Note: See chapters 1 and 4 for legal notices. Thanks!

**Chapter Five: History **

Shannon had been only nine the first time she saw her step-mother strike Boone. Sabrina was glamorous and successful, and she really didn't have the time or the patience for a needy little boy. Even as a child, Boone had been needy, even if no one but Shannon and Sabrina saw it. In fact, Shannon and Sabrina, the two women Boone wanted to love and trust the most, were the ones who repeatedly abused him. Boone always shouldered their hate and contempt, yet would risk his own safety and comfort to come to their aid. He always put them first.

Boone had been only eleven at the time, a little too serious, an old soul in a tiny little body. He knew lots of things—how to fix Shannon's curling iron when it broke, how to set a proper table for one of Sabrina's parties—and had lots of friends. He was full of typical little boy mischief, yet always stopped short of causing real mayhem. He didn't want to cause trouble, had no desire to bring attention to himself. He simply played sandlot baseball, began flirting with the pretty girls who flocked around him, went for hamburgers and milkshakes with neighborhood friends. Everyone liked being around him, yet felt no real loss if he weren't around.

Boone knew he had been an accident. He had heard Sabrina screaming that at his father one afternoon. She hadn't wanted a baby, hadn't wanted to start a family. He'd heard Sabrina yelling, screaming that Boone should have never been born, that she grew so tired of having a scruffy little boy underfoot. From that day on, Boone saw the world as this large place where he didn't belong, and was never meant to be. If Boone's father hadn't tampered with Sabrina's diaphragm, he'd never been born. He knew this was what both parents wanted. Sabrina didn't want to give a child the attention she should be giving her business, and Boone was a disappointment to his father. He knew, without a doubt, it would have been best for everyone if he had never been born.

Boone was remembering this argument one night in his bedroom. He was only eleven, caught somewhere between boyhood and the turbulent teen years, and alone by choice. It had been raining today, and Boone, who was always careful to keep up with the weather, knew thunderstorms were predicted. Boone hated thunderstorms. He always had. He was all set to spend the night in his room, cuddled up in bed. Shannon had a friend spending the night, and their parents were throwing another dinner party. If Boone played his cards right, he would be ignored until morning.

The thunder started an hour later. The wind picked up, howling outside Boone's upstairs window. He wanted to put on headphones, put he was afraid to stop listening to the wind.

He wanted to hide under the covers when the lightening began, but he was too frightened to take his eyes off the window. He had to see the lightening, had to hear the wind. If he stopped watching and listening, the unthinkable would happen. He knew.

He also knew he wanted his mother. Sliding out of bed, Boone began inching his away across his room. He had to pass the bedroom window to get to the door. He hated to pass the window, was frightened by the idea of being so close to the rain and thunder and wind. He waited for a lull in the thunder before tiptoeing past the window. Perhaps he could make it…

**_CRASH! _**Boone was even with the window when the loudest rumble of thunder yet clasped against the sky. He scampered across the room, desperate to get away from the window, out of his bedroom, out the door, down the stairs, and into his mother's embrace. She might not have wanted him, but he knew she wouldn't be able to turn him away. He had helped her out too many times.

It was moments later, as he stood peeking into the formal dining room, that Boone realized his pants were wet. He must have wet his pants when the thunder boomed. Flushing, he quickly clasped his hands over his butt, and turned back toward the staircase. He needed to go wash out his pajamas. If his mother found out about this, she would kill him.

"Hi, Boone," Boone looked up, startled to see one of his mother's friends leaving this bathroom. She was smiling at him, her brown eyes crinkled with smile lines. She reached out and fluttered a hand through his hair. Quickly, he spun around, desperate to hide his soggy bottom from this pretty lady.

"Is something wrong?" She asked kindly. Her hand remained, soft and gentle, atop his downy head. "Are you hungry?"

Boone shook his head. Just then, another loud clap of thunder rang through the massive foyer. He jumped, looking first startled, then very, very embarrassed. "Ah," she said, suddenly understanding. "You're afraid of thunderstorms. They always scared my sister, too."

He shrugged one thin shoulder, trying to be manly, yet needing comfort. But if she hugged him, she might feel how wet he was. He cleared his throat. "I-"

"Booger!" Shannon yelled from the top of the stairs. Boone spun around, his back to his mother's friend, to see Shannon and her sleepover companion at the top of the staircase.

The friend was bent over, giggling, while Shannon looked furious. "You've peed!"

Boone flushed a deep, angry purple. "Shut up, Shannon!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the spacious foyer. "Go back to bed!"

"Boone!" Sabrina was walking out of the dining room, her face, like her son's, flushed and angry. "Why are you yelling? What are you doing out of your…" her voice trailed off. Too late, he realized he still had his back to his mother. She could see his wet pajama bottoms. "Boone," Sabrina said, her voice low and dangerous. "What happened to your pajamas?"

Boone chewed on his bottom lip, eyes downcast. "Boone," his mother said threateningly.

"What happened to your pants?"

Boone kept his eyes on the floor. He could hear Shannon and her friend giggling, heard his mother's ragged breathing, and felt the pretty lady's warm hand atop his head. He took a deep breath. "The thunder scared me," he whispered. "I was coming down to see you…"

Sabrina's chest heaved. She closed her eyes briefly, obviously praying for patience with her little boy. "Karen," she said to her friend. "Why don't you go back to the dining room? Gena was just about to serve dessert. Chocolate Raspberry torte tonight, one of my new recipes."

Karen smiled. "You may have invented the recipe, Sabrina," she said knowingly. "But someone else actually prepared the torte."

Sabrina shrugged one delicate shoulder. "You're right," she agreed. "Nevertheless, I am sure you will love the torte. I'm featuring it at two bridal parties and a sorority tea next week alone. Please go sample a slice and tell me what you think. I'd love your opinion."

"Of course," Karen said. She removed her hand from Boone's head and smiled down at him. "Nice to see you again, Boone. Come in for a piece of the torte later, if you'd like."

"After he takes a bath," Shannon whispered loudly. Her friend collapsed in a new fit of giggles.

Sabrina's smile was tight. She followed Karen to the dining room, her high heels click-

clacking on the marble floor. Sabrina closed the double doors behind Karen, assuring no

one in the dining room could hear what was happening in the foyer. She stood with her hands on the door knobs for a moment, her head bowed, shoulders rounded. Boone had seen his mother drop her glamorous façade only a handful of time in his short life. What

happened afterwards was never pretty.

When Sabrina turned around, her eyes were flashing. She walked quickly toward Boone, her searing gaze never leaving her face. When Boone was in reach, she pulled her left hand back and slapped him hard across the face. His head snapped back and tears sprang in his eyes.

"How dare you embarrass me like that?" Sabrina hissed. She pulled her hand back and slapped him a second time.

"I-I was s-sssared of the t-thunder," Boone stammered, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

Sabrina heaved a deep breath. "Thunder," she muttered. "Your father was too soft on you when it came to thunderstorms. It's time to end this silly fear of yours for good."

Grabbing his hand, Sabrina began pulling Boone through the house. Behind him, he heard Shannon and her friend run down the staircase, following them. Sabrina stared straight ahead, moving purposely through the house, her hand in Boone's strong and firm.

As much as he squirmed and pleaded, she didn't relinquish her grasp.

When they finally made it to the rear of the house, Sabrina pulled the backdoor open. A blast of cold, electrified night air hit Boone's face. The thunderstorm was in full mode now, unleashing a virtual firestorm over greater Los Angeles. The wind, thunder and lightening, which had been frightening enough up in Boone's room, was absolutely terrifying on ground level. Here, Boone was able to see the lightening as it struck the earth, actually hear the crackles in the air. His teeth began to chatter.

Before he knew what was happening, Sabrina had shoved him out into the night. He stumbled into the backyard, mud oozing through his toes. He looked back at Sabrina over his shoulder. She was illuminated by bright yellow light, and looked more powerful than he could have ever imagined. Shannon and her girlfriend peeked around Sabrina's legs, staring awestruck at Boone. The girlfriend looked a bit frightened. She clearly wanted to go back to Shannon's room, far away from this little family drama.

The look in Shannon's eyes, however, momentarily halted his shivering. He had never seen an expression quite like the one she was wearing, and he'd not see it again until a plane crash. She looked horrified and scared, yes, but there was something else…something which told Boone Shannon had just realized her power.

She knew, as in the natural selection of things, that she was a survivor, while Boone was

the loser. She had just realized the strongest survived only by feeding on the emotions and power of the weak. She knew.

Now, over a decade later, Shannon and Boone lay lost and injured on a deserted island, both remembering the night Sabrina had left her son alone and frightened in a thunderstorm. Boone remembered being locked out all night, staying awake long after the thunderstorm had died. He remembered his stepfather sneaking out of the house at dawn,

finding Boone hiding under the storage shed. Mr. Rutherford had helped Boone clean up, made him hot chocolate and chicken broth, and sang silly songs until Boone fell asleep in his own bed.

Shannon and her friend had left Boone out in the thunderstorm, bid goodnight to Sabrina, then trampled back up to her room. Neither girl was in the mood for the video and popcorn the maid had brought in. They both climbed into bed, feigning sleep, but around midnight, Shannon gave up pretending and went to the window. She saw Boone standing in the middle of the yard, his arms wrapped around his thin body. Even from a distance, she could see him shaking. She had felt sorry for Boone. She'd never deny that. But she also knew…she knew her world changed that night. She now knew she was the powerful one, she knew she could control Boone. All it took was an unkind word, a slap, a hateful look, and Boone would crumple. She and Sabrina both knew.

And now, looking at her brother as he shivered in the moonlight, she realized things would never change.


	6. Shannon & Boone

Title: His Heroine, Chapter 6

Author: Zelda Loves Charlie, Orlando Hope, Zeldabel

Rating: R

Warnings: Graphic Sexuality, Incest

Pairings: Shannon / Boone

Shannon and Boone lay side by side, barely touching. The rain had subsided to a soft mist, and daybreak was visible through the canopy of trees. Aside from Boone's deep, heavy breathing, the jungle was quiet. Shannon thought she'd prefer to hear a boar snorting for truffles, or a polar bear moaning in the distance. Anything—**_anything_**—but this horrible silence.

It had been a long night. In his delusion, Boone had kicked Shannon twice in the stomach, carried on a one-way conversation with his dead father, and wet himself twice. Shannon had spent the night holding Boone through his chills, mopping sweat off his face with her favorite bra, and trying desperately to bring his fever down. When the fever had finally broken, Boone fell into a calm asleep. Shannon, however, never slept. She kept a watch on him, watched his chest rise and fall with breath and life. She counted the eyelashes fanned across his cheek, rested her head on his chest so she could both feel and hear his heartbeat. He was alive.

"That was a neat thing you did, with the aspirin," Boone said around dawn. It was the first sensible thing he had said since Shannon found him the night before. "How did you learn to do that?"

Shannon shrugged one delicate shoulder. "Watching Animal Planet." Since she had forgotten to bring any fresh water, and Boone's throat was too dry too simply swallow the aspirin, Shannon had smashed the pills with a rock and spread the powder on Boone's gums. The medicine was absorbed through his gums, and helped lower the fever.

Boone laughed, a deep, husky laugh which sent shivers all the way to Shannon's bright pink toenails. "Maybe you should be a vet."

"I think taking care of you is a full-time job, big brother," Shannon answered. "Anyway, we seem to kill all the animals on the island, not nurse them back to health."

"You're right." Boone sighed. "Think the others are worried about us?"

Shannon snorted. "As if. You really think anyone is going to miss us?"

"How about Sayid?" Boone turned his head so he could look at Shannon. "Think he's looking for you?"

"Let's not talk about the others—including Sayid," Shannon suggested. Though she was still looking up at the sky, she could feel her brother's gaze on her. She had to get the subject away from Sayid—fast. Shannon wasn't prepared to answer Boone's questions about her relationship with Sayid. For that matter, Shannon herself wasn't ready for those answers.

The stench of sweat was still strong on Boone's body. Shannon wrinkled her nose. "You smell like decaying meat and pee, you know that, right? Not a very fetching aroma."

"Ah, back to predictable Shannon," Boone sighed, closing his eyes. "Things get too complicated, and you turn nasty. I expect nothing less."

"I'm not being nasty, I'm telling you the truth—**_you stink!_**" Delicately, she sniffed her underarms and sighed. "I don't smell all that great myself."

"Kate and Sawyer found a freshwater pool around here somewhere," Boone said, making no effort to move. "I guess we could try and find it, get cleaned up."

"I suppose," Shannon sighed, though she, like Boone, made no effort to move. After last night, after a week of making love to her brother, finding out he had been relieved when he thought her dead, flirting with Sayid, chasing Boone through a demented jungle, breaking her wrist, and being peed on, she was content right where she was. It was finally Shannon's turn to rest.

But Boone was having none of it. "Shannon?"

"What, Boone?"

"I wasn't really relieved."

Closing her eyes, Shannon sighed. With her good hand, she reached out for Boone. With his large hand wrapped around hers, Shannon Rutherford finally fell asleep.

**Author's Note: **The rest is up to you, my friends. When I first began this story, I imagined Boone either committing suicide at the end or being killed by one of his fellow castaways. Then, as I wrote more and more about him, I began to love him. So, Boone survives to face another day on my personal fantasy island.

As for the Shannon / Boone relationship: I thought about them making love in this chapter, perhaps in the freshwater pool—signifying a cleansing of hearts, minds and bodies—or in the dirt—signifying a new chapter in an already muddied relationship. In the end, I liked this simple little ending: Boone telling Shannon, in his own special way, how much he loves her. Shannon admitted her love a few chapters earlier; all she wanted was to know how Boone felt in return. Plus, her temper never allowed her to let him explain exactly _why _he felt relieved when he thought she was dead. He was relieved that Shannon was off the island, in a better place; she believed the worst not of him, but of herself.

I hope everyone has enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Zelda


	7. Just a Boy

Title: His Heroine, Chapter VII "Just a Boy"

Author: Zeldabel / Zelda Loves Charlie / Orlando Hope

Disclaimer: The characters—with the exception of Phoebe—belong to JJ Abrams. "Ordinary Day" belongs to Vanessa Carleton.

**Just a Boy**

"Just a day,

Just an ordinary day

Just trying to get by

Just a boy,

Just an ordinary boy

But he was looking to the sky

And as he asked if I would come along

I started to realize

That everyday you find

Just what he's looking for,

Like a shooting star he shines."

"Ordinary Day," Vanessa Carlton

Sabrina Boone Carlisle was not pleased to discover she was pregnant. Short of having an abortion, she did everything possible to miscarry her baby. She "slipped" on a patch of ice, threw dinner parties flowing with booze and thick with smoke, she had her worthless brother-in-law punch her in the stomach. When nothing worked, and the lump in her stomach grew annoyingly larger, Sabrina smoked joints, refused to eat and tried to shame the baby by telling him how unloved and unwanted he was.

She despised the feeling of the baby growing within her. She'd wake up to feel his little foot kicking against her, and almost weep with despair. She had a life, a wonderful life full of hard work and ambition and success. She had absolutely no room for this little person, had no desire to spend time with someone who didn't speak her language.

By her seventh month, Sabrina was forced to admit defeat.

"Look," her husband said, awed as he stared at the grainy, black-and-white sonogram. "It's our baby, Sabrina."

"How wonderful," Sabrina spat.

Richard slid an arm around her shoulders. "There's no need to be afraid, darling," he said soothingly. "You are going to be a great mom."

Sabrina was appalled. How could Richard think she was afraid of, as opposed to totally disgusted by, motherhood? "I'm not afraid," she snapped. "I'm---"

"We're going to be wonderful parents," Richard said distractedly, still staring at the screen. Suddenly, he grew excited. "Look, Sabrina! It's his winkie!"

Sabrina winced. How could she be expected to live in a world where words like **_winkie _**were commonplace? She needed to be surrounded by spread sheets and bridal gowns, not diapers and warm bottles. There was no room in her heart or life for Big Bird.

Or a little boy.

Richard was amazed. "There's no need to be afraid," he repeated. "It's just a boy. Just an ordinary boy."

Boone Carlisle, still donned in the tux and shiny loafers he'd worn to the wedding, sprinted across the Cancun beach to his hotel room. After two weeks of organizing the very high-profile wedding of the very flirtatious, very skinny daughter of a Hollywood director to the most prominent attorney in LA, he was free. Free to meet two old college buddies at a local bar, kick back with a couple of beers, listen to loud music, and, if he was lucky, spend the rest of the evening with a beautiful girl.

"Shit!" Boone yelled, colliding head-on with something hard and unyielding. He had been far too busy imaging dancing close with a dark-eyed Mexican senorita to pay attention to where he was going. And, as late as it was, he ha expected the beach to be deserted.

"No, don't worry about me," came a voice from the darkness. "I've just been hit by a Hummer, but you go on about your business."

"I'm sorry," Boone said, struggling to his feet. He looked down at his tuxedo and groaned. It was heavy with wet sand and probably ruined. His mother was going to kill him.

Pushing his mother's image from his mind, Boone stretched out a hand to the person he had hit. Squinting in the darkness, he was able to see an outline of lots of frizzy hair and perhaps…shiny beads. He remembered seeing an ad for one of the club shows. All the performers wore silly afros and danced to really bad music under a revolving disco ball. "Hey, are you part of the 'Stayin' Dead 70's Revue'?"

"Now that's a new one," the voice said. It was a female voice, but much deeper and huskier than most. It was void of the champagne-bubble giggles Boone was used to hearing in female voices. "I had one college dude ask me if I was participating in the Lane Bryant swimsuit shoot, a teenage girl offered me a bottle of Frizz Ease, and a Broadway producer offered me the role of Little Orphan Annie in his newest musical.

Apparently, he has written a play about comic strip characters gone to the darkside – Annie is a crackhead who is preparing for a sex-change operation. But you are the first person to ask me if I'm part of the 'Stayin' Dead 70's Revue'."

"Really?" Boone asked, pleased.

"Oh, yes," the girl said. "You should be very proud of yourself."

Boone shrugged. "Well, thanks." He cleared his throat. "Listen, I'm in a bit of a hurry. Let me help you up."

"No, I'm fine here," the girl answered. In the darkness, he saw her silhouette lay back on the sand. "Hurry on. I bet you were in a hurry to meet some little anorexic girl in a thong and two seashells. Probably has sharp little white teeth – like Chiclets."

Boone laughed out loud, starling himself. It had been so long since he'd laughed. He spend most of his time with Sabrina's wedding employees, all who were too downtrodden and disillusioned to laugh. And, for the past two months, the bride's mother had Boone's cell phone number on speed dial. Every five minutes, she was calling to complain about the veil or the shape of the groom's cake or the color of the doves which would be released after the ceremony. "They have to be pure white, Boone dear," she'd whine. "None of that dove gray nonsense. Pure white. Are you writing this down, Boone dear?"

Laughter was very seldom a part of Boone's life.

"Actually," Boone said, sinking to his knees despite himself. "I was meeting Dave and John, two old buddies from UCLA. And if they show up in thongs, I'm going to go totally Odepius Rex and gouge my eyes out."

"UCLA, huh? I guess that means you're from California?"

"Born and raised in Brentwood," Boone answered, lying back on the sand.

"Brentwood, really?" The girl said, excited.

"Yeah."

"I have no idea where that is, man," she said, deadpan.

Boone laughed again, and folded his hands beneath his head. "LA. You know, like OJ?"

"How fortunate," the girl said dryly. "What neighborhood parties you must have."

Boone pretended to stare up at the sky, yet watched the girl out of the corner of his eye. He was becoming accustomed to the darkness now, and he could make her out in bits and pieces. She looked like she had bright red corkscrews sprouting from her head, and was wearing a very modest bathing suit. "Listen," he said, nudging her calf with his foot. "I'm Boone."

"Ah, no names!" She cried, draping an arm across her face. "Can't we just meet anonymously on a deserted beach, like in a romance novel, rather than swapping email addresses and blood types and all that crap?"

"Nope," Boone said cheerfully. "Boone Carlisle, at your service."

"Ugh, last names, too," she sighed. "Can I at least make up a name? Something trendy like Montana or sexy like, I don't know, Sabrina?"

"Not Sabrina," Boone said quickly. "That's my mother's name."

"So? I can still be Sabrina."

"No, you can't," Boone argued. "Later when we make love, and I cry out your name in ecstasy, I don't want to feel like an incestuous sicko."

"Well, you did bring up the Odepius Rex thing," she pointed out. She was silent for several beats, then said, "Phoebe."

"I'm sorry?"

"My name. It's Phoebe."

Boone looked over at her. "Is that your real name?"

"What you think I'd make that up?" She snapped, not unkindly. "It's as good as **_Boone." _**

"Fair enough." He agreed. He turned on his side so he could gaze openly at her.

"You're staring," Phoebe pointed out. She dropped all pretense of staring at the stars and looked him in the face.

"Yes, I am," Boone agreed.

"So are you going to tell me?" Phoebe asked.

"Tell you what?" Boone whispered, reaching over to push a stray corkscrew from her cheek. His fingertips lingered on her cheek. He wanted to come away with some of her essence, some of the laughter he saw within her.

"You're deepest secret."

"Hum." Boone pondered this. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"Now there's an original line," Phoebe laughed. "Anyway, I've already told you my deepest secret. My name is Phoebe. You're the only guy south of Oklahoma who knows that."

"Well, let's see," Boone mused. "I'm in love with my sister."

Phoebe blinked her leprechaun eyes. "Well, I wasn't expecting that one."

"Wow. I feel like I should be paying you," he said. "I've been with you ten minutes and I've laughed, told you my deepest secret, and forgotten all about my mother. You're better than therapy."

"If you invite me to a bachelor's party, I'm going to be seriously affronted," Phoebe warned.

Boone laughed out loud. "No one with breasts like that could be considered one of the guys," he assured her.

Despite the darkness, Boone saw Phoebe flush. He also saw, to his absolute delight, her nipples tighten under her suit. Reaching out, afraid to frighten her away, Boone flittered his palm across her nipples. When he heard her groan, he hardened instantly.

"Okay, forget about talking," Phoebe said, reaching for him.

Boone didn't need inviting twice. In a nanosecond, he was on top of her, his tongue in her mouth, his hands pushing at the straps of her suit. He felt her strong legs clamp around his back, and felt her fingers working at his shirt. Pulling his mouth from hers, he buried his face in her cleavage, pushing her breasts up to surround him.

"_And as he spoke, he spoke ordinary words_

_Although they did not feel_

_For I felt want I had not felt before_

_You'd swear those words could head_

_And as I looked up into those eyes_

_His vision borrows mine._

_And to know he's no stranger,_

_For I feel I've held him for all of time."_

"Thank you, Vanessa Carleton," Boone said against her skin, smiling as Phoebe finished her song.

Phoebe burst out laughing. "Those lyrics popped into my head for some reason. Just an ordinary day, an ordinary boy."

"Except it's night," Boone teased, nipping at her shoulder.

"Well, there's that," Phoebe breathed.

"I---" Boone began. He cocked his head. "Do you hear something?"

Phoebe looked panicked. "Oh, God, you're schizophrenic. I knew something had to be wrong with you. Other than being in love with your sister, I mean."

"Hum. Did the voices make me say that again?" Boone asked, distracted. What was that ringing? It sounded like the melody to "I'm a Bitch."

His cell phone.

Shannon's ring.

Shannon.

Boone rolled off Phoebe and dove for his phone. He had pressed "send" before the second chorus began.

"Boone?" Shannon's voice was tinny and full of static. "I need you."

Shannon and Boone say side by side, listening to the now-familiar sounds of the jungle. Boone was pretending to sleep, but Shannon knew better.

"Boone?" She prodded.

"What, Shannon?" He asked, annoyed.

"When I called you in Cancun, after that wedding…" she paused.

"Yeah?"

"Were you with someone?"

Boone was quiet for a few beats. Shannon was just beginning to think he was going to ignore her when his voice rang out in the darkness. "Yes."

"Was she someone special?" For some reason, the Cancun call had always bothered Shannon. When Boone'd answered his cell phone, he'd been reluctant and almost cool.

Not to mention breathing very, very heavily.

"No. No one special."

Shannon looked over at Boone's profile. His wizard's eyes were focused on the first stars appearing in the sky. "Just a girl," he said finally. "Just an ordinary girl."


	8. Lost Boy, Golden Girl

Title: His Heroine, Chapter VIII "Lost Boy, Golden Girl"

Author: Zeldabel / Zelda Loves Charlie / Orlando Hope

Warnings: Adult language

Pairing: Shannon and Boone

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Am associated with nothing! AM nothing!

All characters belong to JJ Abrams, and the lyrics to "Lost Boys & Golden Girls" belong to Meatloaf.

Summary: Boone told his side of the story in "Just a Boy." Now it's Shannon's turn.

His Heroine

"Lost Boy, Golden Girl"

Lost boys and golden girls  
Down on the corner, and all around the world  
Lost boys and golden girls  
Down on the corner and all around, all around the world  
It doesn't matter where they're going  
Or wherever they've been  
'cause they've got one thing in common, it's true  
They'll never let a night like tonight go to waste  
---Meatloaf

Sabrina Boone Carlisle Rutherford cried when she learned her eighteen-year-old stepdaughter, Shannon, had eloped.

Not that Sabrina cared what Shannon Rutherford did with her life. Sabrina thought the little bitch was a conniving, over-sexed gold digger.

Not unlike Sabrina herself, to be honest.

Now that Shannon was married—to some penniless idiot she'd picked up in a seedy dive no doubt—Sabrina could finally wash her hands of her rebellious step-daughter. Sabrina's second husband, Shannon's father Kyle, had died two years ago. Kyle had left Shannon a meager trust fund and had prepaid UCLA tuition. Shannon didn't need Sabrina's money. In Sabrina's opinion, her family could sever ties with vulgar little Shannon Rutherford.

But then there was Boone.

Sabrina had watched Shannon and Boone over the years. She watched, totally helpless, as Boone rode to Shannon's rescue again and again. From neglected algebra homework to lovesick boyfriends, Boone was always ready to clean up Shannon's messes. So many times, unknown to Boone, Sabrina had slipped away from work and watched his soccer games and school plays. And, more often than not, Boone had left his teammates and cast members in the lurch to ride to Shannon's rescue. Sabrina hated them both for it. Hated Shannon for abusing her son, abhorred Boone for letting her. .

Once, just once, Sabrina would have loved to find her son retching after a frat party, stoned on too many joints, or naked in the backyard hammock with the homecoming queen. Instead of alcohol or drugs, however, Boone was addicted to his sister. _**Step-sister**,_

Sabrina corrected herself. The difference was vital.

The frightening thing was, Sabrina wasn't the only one who knew the power Shannon held over Boone. Unfortunately, Shannon herself knew. She knew, without a doubt, Boone would easily sacrifice his life for her. Shannon knew Boone watched her, had felt his gaze on her since early childhood. She used her asthma attacks as a way to keep Boone tied to her side, a clever ploy to tease and manipulate herself into his embrace. Shannon knew Boone was constantly looking for an excuse to pull her into his arms. It was all so easy for her.

Thunder began rumbling in the distance. Sabrina sighed, pushing back the parlor windows to stare at the darkening sky. At least Boone was in Mexico, where, hopefully, it was warm and tranquil. Short of beating Boone, she'd never been able to rid him of his fear of thunderstorms. His father, Richard, had hated them, too. It was during a torrential August thunderstorm when five-year-old Boone found Richard sitting in his favorite recliner, a smoking revolver in his hand. Sabrina blanched, thinking not for the first time, what might have happened had Boone and Theresa arrived home only minutes earlier.

Mexico. Yes, her boy was in Mexico, supervising the wedding of a snotty little rich girl. Sabrina had, unbeknown to Boone, even paid to have two of his UCLA frat buddies accompany him on the trip. Knowing John and Dave like she did, with their identical freckled faces and Southern charm, they'd have no problem introducing Boone to the wild Mexican nightlife.

And by the time he came home, Shannon Rutherford would be a bad memory.

The first time it happened, Andrew thought he had heard wrong. Why, in the midst of a shattering orgasm, would his new bride yell **_boo? _**It wasn't Halloween. Maybe she had said something like "flew" or even "moo." He'd had a girlfriend once who had mooed anytime she felt horny. The moos never made Andrew horny. They'd made him want a hamburger.

He decided to ignore the entire thing. He was probably having flashbacks to Bovine Girl.

The second time it happened, Andrew was sure she had moaned "soon." Well, that made a bit more sense. Andrew picked up the pace, convinced he was about to have to scrape what was left of Shannon off the ceiling. "Soon!" She screamed. "Soon!"

The third time it happened, four weeks into their marriage, Andrew knew for certain what word his young wife had whispered. It was well past midnight, and Andrew was tired and cranky, yet unable to sleep. Shannon had a touch of the flu, and you'd think no other person alive had ever been sick. She'd sent Andrew out early that morning for cough syrup and a Starbucks peppermint latte. He'd spent the entire day listening to her moan and sneeze, fluffing her pillows, going to Food World for Ben and Jerry's, calling Shannon's doctor, going back to Food World to fill inhaler and sleeping pill prescriptions, handing her Kleenex, painting her toenails, searching for the latest issues of _Cosmo _and _Glamour _under the dusty bed, fixing her lunch, washing pajamas and sheets, going to the neighborhood video store for ten different Johnny Depp movies, going to Food World for a third time when _Chocolat _made her hungry and fending off calls from Shannon's obnoxiously flighty girlfriends.

Andrew was exhausted.

He now lay beside Shannon in the darkness, one arm flung carelessly over his head. He had flirted with the idea of taking one of Shannon's sleeping pills, then quickly dismissed the idea. He was just cranky enough to enjoy feeling restless with sleep and sick with fatigue. The idea of simply lying there being miserable appealed to him.

Shannon was curled up in a ball, hugging her corner of the bed, a crumpled Kleenex in her hand. Her breathing was raspy, her lungs so wet he almost missed her whispered plea: "Boone."

Andrew turned his head, mystified. She was dreaming about her brother? He imagined dreaming about his sister, Becky, and shuddered. Poor Shannon. She often said how much her older brother, Boone, annoyed her. Andrew had only met him once, and found Boone snobby, overly protective, and unexplainably angry. Now Shannon was dreaming about the bastard. Smiling indulgently, Andrew rolled over and pulled his wife into his arms.

"Boone," Shannon sighed, burying her face in Andrew's chest. "Boone."

A bizarre suspicion snaked its way into Andrew's mind. He thought back to their wedding night, when he had heard his new wife yell "boo" during their lovemaking.

Had she said…**_Boone? _**And, once again, had it been Boone as opposed to "soon?" Boo.

Boone. Soon. Boone. **_Boone. _**

Clenching his jaw, Andrew released Shannon and angrily rolled out of bed. Taking giant, angry strides over to Shannon's closet, he pulled her newest handbag off a high shelf. Rifling through her wallet, he quickly found what he was looking for: a high school photo of Boone.

Taking the photo, he went back to Shannon's side of the bed. The hand not holding the Kleenex was propped up against the bedside table. Andrew placed the small photo in her hand, and left their bedroom without looking back.

Shannon woke thirty minutes, groggy from all the cough syrup and sleeping pills. Running her foot up one tanned leg, she cringed, realizing she was in desperate need of a pedicure. Getting sick was no excuse for ignoring her beauty regime. She'd ask Andrew to drive her over to the Golden Door later do get her nails done. No problem.

Okay, that was taken care of. What else did she need? Hum…chocolate sounded good. And sex. Sex and chocolate and a manicure. And she knew Andrew would be more than happy to obey her every whim. She so loved being married!

"Andrew?" She called, her voice huskier than usual. Damn cold. "Andrew?" When he didn't come running, Shannon moved to roll out of bed. In the floor, half hidden under her nightstand, she saw it. Boone's face, serious and composed, stared up at her.

Andrew had discovered their secret. Shannon laughed dryly. It had only taken Andrew a month. Most guys—and Boone's little gold diggers—usually took a lot longer to catch on. She had to give Andrew credit. He had been smarter than most.

With a sigh of resignation, Shannon rolled over and reached for the phone. Drawing upon three years in the high school drama club, she forced tears into her eyes and voice.

It took Boone only a second to answer his cell. Like Shannon, his voice sounded strained and husky.

"Boone," Shannon cried. "I need you."


End file.
